Recovered Treasure

I recently unpacked a box of my father’s books that has been tucked away for 5 years. Its contents made me want sip a cup of freshly brewed tea, settle by a roaring fire, or at the very least, curl up in a comfy chair. However, it was 96 degrees outside and I was so thrilled by my find that I just devoured them on the spot.

In the first batch, many titles were barely discernable, with spines worn away from bindings, their loopy, calligraphic inscriptions softened by time. My parents got me hooked on signing my name and a note in books given as gifts. I had forgotten that the family tradition started long ago.

Each opened book, each freshly read inscription, revealed a delicious nugget about its owner; protestations of puppy love called out from my great grandfather’s McGuffy’s Reader, whimsical sketches inside a school primer sparkled with a youthful ease that my own grandfather rarely showed in his later years, his wife’s shaky script, penned inside a green velvet volume of Christmas poems, revealed that this was the first gift her husband had given her when they were both freshman in college. As I dug deeper I found a book about WWII veterans with my own earnest note dutifully dated, thanking my dad for his service to our country.

My father used to say that reading let you go on any adventure you wished, and in this case, it was an intriguing trip back in time. The Ladies and Gentlemens’ Complete Etiquette, by Mrs. E.B. Duffey set me down smack in the middle of Philadelphia in 1877 where I read that “ Some people never “go to bed” they “retire.” They never “read” a book or paper, but “peruse” it. They “purchase” instead of “buy”. They never wish, but “desire.” They are never guilty of commonplace “talking,” they always “converse.” The best talkers and writers express their ideas in the plainest and simplest language.” Hmm. A good topic for discussion, don’t you think?

If you enjoy leafing through old books as much as I do, or even if you’re just in the mood for a particularly lush bookstore to while away some hours, check out Bookman’s Alley in Evanston. http://centerstagechicago.com/literature/bookstores/bookmans.html
I’m still trying to figure out where each treasured volume will go. I know there isn’t room for all of them on our shelves at the same time, so I’ll rotate the display. What I do know is that as I read those sentiments penned so long ago, they were given a new life, a fresh appreciation. They brought the past right into my hands and let me linger in familial comfort. I won’t need more bookshelf space to hold onto that